


a church of burnt romances

by cosmogyral (beneathyourbravery)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Drabble, Inferno References (La Divina Commedia | The Divine Comedy - Dante Alighieri), Lust, M/M, Religion, Sins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28345908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beneathyourbravery/pseuds/cosmogyral
Summary: Lead me not into temptation, a boy with strawberry blond hair and deep brown eyes, honeyed skin and a taunting smirk,deliver me from evil.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	a church of burnt romances

Donghyuck learns desire long before he understands the warm feeling of skin pressed to skin, untouchable legend before breathtaking beauty, sin personified into the body of a boy too exquisite to resist. He makes out of Hell his home, descends his way down there with the ease of that who can only belong; lives in the incessant wind of its raging storms and laughs in the form of heart-wrenching lightning, eats away at the souls agonizing for eternity beneath his eyes, and whispers into dark deep waters rising into devastating waves, _“You gave into me,”_ damnation for humanity his very own purpose, temptation in essence, _“now you’re forever for me to have.”_

Mark Lee lets his bony knees bruise yellow, purple and blue against the white wood of his church’s pews every morning at dawn and every evening at dusk; curves his spine into a bow and hides his face into his pressed-together hands, and begs Him for protection, forgiveness from his Saviour— _lead me not into temptation,_ a boy with strawberry blond hair and deep brown eyes, honeyed skin and a taunting smirk, _deliver me from evil_ , the heart shape of his pouty lips and the moles dotting his face, flawless scars telling him where to kiss, search to sate his ache.

“Is it really that wrong,” Donghyuck whispers against the sensitive, paper thin skin just shy off Mark’s left ear, the words coming out in warm puffs of air and waking goosebumps at their step, “thinking of His creation as something beautiful?”

Mark keeps his hands glued to the cold stone of one the church’s back columns, eyes raised to the dome-covered sky in silent prayer, lips pressed together into a thin line as he tries to keep the devil at bay not for the first time this week—hiding under the pretense of a being so delicate he would never be at risk of harm, doom for Mark’s soul from the very second he saw him walking into the building three minutes before the bells announced closing time, every single one of the secrets he has ever tried to hide and pray away turned into the very image of a boy impossible to resist until he confessed, under the unforgiving grip of Mark’s fingers around his delicate wrist, about wanting more than he would ever be allowed, about having searched for Mark through endless arrays of vagant souls until he’d been born to come find him in this very exact place. 

“You’re not His creation,” Mark manages to spit out in the end, aching to grab the rosary hanging from his neck—a noose against evil, damned corruption of his still pure heart, “you shall burn in the fire, you _demon_.”

“I’m no demon, just like you’re no angel,” Donghyuck smirks, teeth pointy when they nip at the crook of his neck, making Mark shiver and _ache_ , “Lust too, Mark Lee, was born from Him, to tell the sinners apart from the worthy by the time Doomsday comes.”

“I’m not a sinner,” Mark brokenly claims, his voice choked under the force of an invisible fist made out of feather kisses and gentle licks of a fire tongue, “oh, _Father, I beg_ —”

“What are you begging Him for, Mark?” Donghyuck taunts, “Forgiveness is a given—what I’m offering you, though, is simply a privilege.”

“Hell is no privilege,” Mark gasps, and want is an open wound in the middle of his chest—threatening to swallow both him and Donghyuck alive, to lead them down the spiral of Hell, yet another story for Virgil to tell, “Heaven is.”

“Please,” Donghyuck laughs—and the ceiling above them parts open to show a dark pink and purple storm, the door to a place no mortal has ever been allowed to know, “Heaven’s got nothing on what I offer you—pleasure is one endless road, Mark Lee. Wouldn’t you want to travel it with me?”

Donghyuck’s lips are soft and inflamed red, the skin hiding beneath his robes supple and caramel-sweet for Mark’s starved tongue.

At last, Mark sinks to his knees—and he does not pray for redemption, for Heaven or salvation, but for Donghyuck to take him and show him the skies parting, flames burning, forgiveness in the shape of sin and not divine devotion.


End file.
